


Forge

by amycooper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Hurt Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physically Hurt Castiel, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:36:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6398830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycooper/pseuds/amycooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of ejecting Lucifer by using the angel banishing sigil on himself, the Winchesters find a comatose Castiel in upstate New York.  His recovery proves to be a challenging road for all three of them.  Meanwhile, Lucifer may be largely depowered, but he's still out there....  This is a long road recovery fic that will eventually hit some action near the end.</p><p>NOTICE: I have not forgotten this work but I haven't been able to move forward with it in nearly a year.  At this point, I have can't promise it will ever be completed. :(</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey Cas.” 

Dean fingered Cas’ limp hand, which was resting on the white hospital linens. He didn’t really expect a response. Cas hadn’t responded in the two weeks that he and Sam watched over him, nor the week before that, when they were desperately searching for him. So it came as no shock when Cas didn’t respond; not a fluttering of eyelids, not a twitch of the hand, not a sound...but it was still disappointing. 

Dean sighed.

“Hey,” he repeated, looked around self-consciously before turning back to Cas and squeezing his hand. “Listen, Cas. I know if anyone deserves a rest it’s you, but you’ve got to wake up, man, you’re scaring Sam and I.”

Dean paused, the silence only filled by the constant beeping of the heart rate monitor. 

“Come on man, I need you to wake up. I need you.” After waiting a long, expectant minute, Dean made a sound of frustration, pushed himself away and then he was up, pacing like a caged animal. He was never good at this, the waiting. Every week or so in their search for Cas, Dean found himself desperate to get out of the Bunker and do something, anything to make himself feel useful, effective. It had taken months for them to track down Lucifer. For all their research they never did find a way to rescue Cas. It was Cas himself that came up with the solution. Cas who wrestled back some level of control. Cas who theorized that carving the banish sigil on himself would depower and eject the archangel while he remained in the vessel, as it was his true vessel. Cas who made the cuts, Cas who placed his hand on the sigil. Cas who disappeared in a flash of blinding light.

Dean closed his eyes, as if shielding himself from the very memory. 

When they had found Cas, unconscious in a hospital in the bumblefuck upstate New York, they’d both been hopeful. After all, the last time he pulled this particular stunt he’d been out of a couple of weeks, but he recovered well enough and was rushing cross country to help with Pestilence shortly after waking. Sure he was depowered, but otherwise he was fine. Alive.

That was then. Now they were well into week three and Cas should no signs of waking.

And Dean was worried.

Worse than worried; he was frustrated. This wasn’t his kind of battle. There was nothing to lash out at, nothing he could hit into submission. No spell to recite, no weapon to brandish, no enemy to target. Just Cas, laying on the bed, looking so damn restful for once; his body slack, his breathing even. Dean almost felt guilty at wanting him to wake. He had never seen Cas look so peaceful.

Dean was still pacing when Sam came in to take his shift. Sam silently watched Dean until he noticed, then lifted an eyebrow.

“Why won’t he wake up?” 

The question was rhetorical, but Sam answered anyway. “I don’t. I’ve been trying to look through the lore and find other examples of angels using the banishing sigil on themselves, but…” Sam lifted a hand in a futile gesture.

Dean huffed and took a seat, leg spread wide. He watched Cas as he failed to move on the bed. His hair askew in a way that remind him of earlier days, the apparent slumber making him look younger, innocent. Dean huffed and turned to Sam. He studied his brother for a moment as he settled in. Sam’s clothes were wrinkled, their were dark rings under his eyes and…Dean sniffed.

“Dude. Couldn’t you at least shower?”

Sam snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

“What? I smell lovely.”

Sam smiled. It was, in fact, the first time Dean saw him do so in weeks. It was a brief, fragile thing, but it was oddly comforting to see. “Yeah well,” Sam adjusted himself in the too small seat, “When you get back to the motel, do me a favor and get your lovely smelling self in the shower.”

Dean hesitated. But they had this argument before and while he loathed to admit it, they weren’t doing Cas any favors exhausting themselves, even if Dean deeply suspected Sam spend his shift at the hotel researching instead of sleeping. He pulled himself up.

“Don’t let him talk your ear off,” Dean gestured to Cas. He turned back to his brother, who had already taken out his laptop. “And don’t get him into any weak-ass new age crap music while I’m away.”

Sam made an noncommittal hum, already absorbed in his research. Dean turned back to Cas, watching him: eyes closed, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in a slow constant rhythm, before he turned and walked out, forcing himself not to look back.


	2. Chapter 2

The biting cold seeped through layers of Dean’s clothes as he stepped outside. He shivered and for a moment thought about Cas laying bloody and unconscious and alone just off a trail in the Adirondacks. He shook the thought out of his head and started walking towards the nearest source of alcohol. Graupel started to fall in lazy spurts from a persistently gray sky and Dean hastened his pace away from Upstate Medical, where Cas had been transferred to when he failed to wake at the small community hospital he was first placed in, and towards the bar he spotted a street over.

Faegan’s wasn’t Dean’s usual scene. The “cafe-pub” clearly catered to the young professionals that worked in the nearby hospitals and was distinctly set up to serve a clientele of a higher class, dress, and economic means than what Dean usually frequented. Everything seemed to glisten and the smell of cleaner mixed with that of alcohol and overpriced pub fare. Years of habit kicked in and Dean analyzed the scene, even thought he had no intention of working over the pub for Intel, or anything else for that matter. Doctors and a few nurses were clustered about, all likely unattached or at least unmarried, letting off some tension after their long shifts. Muted conversations peppered with clinical terminology mixed with the sounds of glassware clinking. In the corner a lone shell shocked middle aged women mechanically ate a meal Dean doubted she even tasted. 

Feeling uneasy and out of place Dean took a seat at the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey and, before he could even process what he was doing, ordered another for the woman in the corner. When it came, she gave the bartender a confused look and after a brief conversation Dean couldn’t overhear, she was looking him questioningly. Dean raised his own shot glass and, after a searching looking, she seemed to find some camaraderie in him and raised her own. They shared a silent shot across the room before going back to their own private misery.

Dean quickly switched from whiskey to beer. He wanted to shut down, but not too much. He didn’t want to be too far gone in case Cas woke up. A few beers later and the twilight outside gave way to a darkness lit up by the Syracuse’s nightlife. Dean stumbled out of the bar and into a half-hearted snowfall at an hour he’d normally consider obscenely early to head in.

Dean's fear of being unable to shut down proved foundationless, as he swiftly fell asleep clothed and face down on the hotel bed, but he dreams that Cas is sinking in quicksand while he and Sam argue over which rope would be the best to pull him out, too consumed in their own squabble to notice the angel's head go under. When he wakes, he finds he'd slept for about five hours. Dean showers, sniffs out his cleanest outfit, and heads back to the hospital in the dark. 

When he arrives, he finds Sam asleep, bent protectively over the bed, his head resting on Cas' legs, an arm outstretched to the far end of the bed so that his hand hangs limply over. The latest Game of Thrones book, which Dean has caught Sam reading outloud to Cas, is laying open nearby. Dean quietly picks it up, closes it, and puts it on the tray among Sam's other materials: laptop, a couple of books about angels, and his cell phone. If Sam had found any answers from any of that, he would have called Dean. They still have squat.

The heart monitor is still beeping slowly away, charting each heartbeat. Cas' chest, rises and falls faintly. His lips slightly parted, his eyes closed, his hair ruffled, his face lax. Dean thinks that it's like Cas is in limbo. The thought makes Dean pause and idly wonder if such a place really exists. If Cas would wake, he could ask him. Dean slowly walks over and places a hand on Cas' forehead and satisfied with the warmth and finds there, moves to Sam's hand. Next he finds a blanket and drapes it over Sam, who doesn't stir. Dean takes a seat on the other side of the bed, rests his legs up on the room's third chair and waits.

He wakes to find Sam placing the blanket on him and bats it off with irritation. Sam pulls it away and holds his hands up briefly in surrender before spreading it out at the bottom of Cas' bed.

"You looked a bit like sleeping beauty there," Sam teased.

Dean huffed. "You're one to talk. When I came in you were draped all over him."

"Yeah, well, while you were gone one of Cas' doctors came by with some students." Sam said, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. Dean understood the explanation.

"Let me guess: Patient is in a coma and fuck all if we know why."

Sam pulled his seat back behind the tray, sat, and talked even as he typed, "And despite breathing on his own, scans all show that he's brain dead. Yeah. Pretty much."

Dean stood and turned to the window, noticing the light shining weakly through the blinds. "But that's what Cas said last time, when we were trying to stop the Apocalypse. They thought he was brain dead then too."

Sam stopped and looked up at Dean. "Dean, he was also awake by now."

"Sammy, we're not having this conversation again." Dean said, heading for the door. "I'm getting us some food."

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but stopped himself and watched Dean leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect this multichapter fanfic to update regularly (I'm aiming for twice a week) with small chapters. Kudos and Comments make my day. :)
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr where I'm [cerulean-beekeeper.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cerulean-beekeeper)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. The stomach virus hit our house, then I had to cover for some coworkers and our cat died. Not a fun week. :(

Sam listened to the sound of Dean stomping down the hall with a heavy sigh. Every day Dean seemed to get touchier. Sam checked his email to see if any of their fellow hunters succeeded in finding anything that could explain Cas' persistent coma, but much like his own research that was a bust. Sam really missed Bobby at times like these. The older hunter seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of lore that seemed, at times, to rival the Men of Letters archive and enough focus to pursue it until he found the answers they seeked. Sam paused, sitting back. Bobby. Charlie, Jo, Ellen, Rufus. Dad. In a way, Cas was all they really had left and, looking at him now, Sam was certain they had already lost him too. Sam wanted to believe like Dean did, that Cas would just get better, but that didn't seem likely. Yes, as Dean pointed out he survived last time, but last time he wasn't also ejecting an archangel and even back then, Cas had thought what he was doing was more or less suicide. The chances of Cas waking up, coming back to them, it just didn't seem likely to Sam, especially as each day passed without any sign that he'd regain consciousness.

It was also obvious to Sam that the long days without action was taking a toll on Dean. Dean was never good at inaction, waiting, and his fuse was getting shorter and shorter. Dean shuffled between the hospital, the bar and brief stints at the hotel room with an almost zombie like shuffle punctuated by random outbursts. Perhaps it was time to find a hunt; maybe Sam could coax him into doing one nearby. Just to get Dean out a bit. Before Sam could search the news for anything suspicious one of the nurses, Pam, walked in.

When Cas was first transferred to Upstate Medical, all the nurses' encouraging words quickly turned to sympathetic and even pitying looks once the brain scans were run. But Pam, with her worn out hazel eyes and brisk manner seemed to have been through enough patients over the years to not form any attachments and didn't seem to have any sympathy to spare. Sam found that oddly comforting. He watched her as she checked Cas' vitals, making note of them before pulling down Cas' blanket.

"Can I help?" Sam said, getting up. He was familiar enough with the routine by now to know that she was about to reposition Cas to prevent bedsores. She nodded her agreement and after a brief conversation on how to position him, the two shifted the former angel so that he was on his side facing the door. Sam grabbed a couple extra pillows and tucked them in by Cas' back while Pam placed one between his legs. Once they had him settled in what looked like a comfortable position, Sam tucked Cas in as Pam headed out the door.

There she paused. Sam, who was just settling back into his chair, looked up at her.

"It's probably nothing," she started and then hesitated.

Sam raised his eyebrows in a questioning look.

"His heart rate's accelerated slightly," Pam said. "It's been the same since he first arrived up until today. Like I said, that probably doesn't mean anything, but..." She shrugged.

Sam gave her a tight smile. "Thanks."

Pam nodded and left.

Returning to the laptop, Sam started looking through the news but couldn't find a hunt. He couldn't concentrate on it, each website he looked at seeming to blur into the next. After a minute he gave up, stood up, and paced for a moment. Maybe it wasn't just Dean that needed to get back in the action, hunt, feel useful. Sam blew air through his lips in frustration before staring down at Cas. After a moment he found himself walking over to Cas' side.

"Hey." He said, taking a seat. He was silent for a moment and when he spoke up again, his voice was thick. "I know you wouldn't want us here. You'd want us to keep fighting to honor your memory. I'll...I'll talk to Dean when he gets back."

Sam wiped away a tear with the back of his hand. He knew Cas was gone, so why did this feel like he was abandoning him...again?

"Is that okay, Cas? Is it okay to move on? Is that what you'd want us to do?" Sam asked, feeling foolish seeking his permission when he was so sure Cas was already gone and yet he felt like he needed to. He took one of Cas' hands in both of his own. "Cas, what do you want me to do?"

Sam froze. He swore-there it was again. A twitch. Sam slowly opened his hands and, staring, saw Cas' hand move just a fraction. Sam looked up to Cas' face.

"Cas?"

Nothing.

Sam licked his lips and squeezed Cas' hand again. "Hey, Cas?"

Sam could see Cas' eyes move underneath closed eyelids. He gave Cas' hand another little squeeze was rewarded with a feeble but definite movement.

"Hey, I hope you're happy with a bacon egg-" Dean's voice cut off.

Sam looked up to Dean, whose eyes were wide with shock. Sam turned back just in time to see Cas' eyes flutter open.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel found himself floating in a soft twilight. Sounds and sensations washed over him for an immeasurable period of time. He couldn’t really remember a Before or imagine an After nor could he find it in him to care about, well, anything. Sounds came, washing over him, receding and returning, but little else changed. 

Touch. Someone was touching him, anchoring him, making him feel solid. Then the Touch was gone and he was free to drift again. He didn’t get far. Sound washed over him again, but when the Touch came back Sound suddenly became Voice. A very familiar voice, though he struggled to place it. That voice was followed by another. He struggled to place them. Comfort? Home? Acceptance? Family? Yes. Yes, it was all those things and perhaps even more than those things.

And then, suddenly, everything was too bright. Far too bright. He shuddered and retreated. The voices faded, dissolving back into noise: a comforting background static in a tranquil sea of twilight. No one ever got hurt here.

When he surfaced again, the Voices were talking, urgent. One answering another in a rhythm. Castiel wondered idly what was so important before slipping away.

The next time he surfaced it was quiet. Colors came first, not as bright as last time, but he still had to squint against the light. The sensation of having his own body gave him pause. Then came pain and heaviness and fatigue. There was a noise, a deep inhale, which he failed to realize originated from himself.

He had a physical body? He had gone so long without-oh. Yes. Jimmy Novak.

The memories and the sensations of a physical body were so overwhelming, confusing. It took him some time to realize one of the Voices was back, sounding urgent. He squinted at the blur of color in front of him, trying to make sense of it. The voice sounded too loud. The colors were too bright. His body was too heavy. He blissfully receded back into the twilight.

“Cas?”

He woke with a start this time, eyes blinking. He felt disorientated, unsure if a moment or a day had passed.

“Cas!” 

Everything hurt. Why was he being woken up? He frowned at the blur in front of him, the source of this great offense. 

“Hey Cas! Come on, man. Say something!”

Cas winced. The Voice was demanding and loud. He wasn’t sure if he liked it anymore. He squinted at the blur of colors. Bright shimmering jagged lines floated in his field of vision, making it hard to make any sense of what he saw.

“Loud. Bright.” Cas mumbled. 

There was a pause, footsteps, the lights dimmed. A moment later the room dimmed further. 

“Better?” Whispered the voice. Dean. The voice was Dean. Dean was here. That, Cas decided, was good. Whatever was going on, Dean would take care of it. He closed his eyes.

“Hey-hey-hey. No, Cas. You’ve got to stay awake.”

Dean was also very demanding. Cas tried to ignore him, but suddenly something touched his hand unexpectantly and he flinched away, opened his eyes, and groaned. Everything hurt. 

Dean was saying something now, which Cas didn’t quite catch. The touch disappeared and Cas groped after it until it returned. 

Another voice came and was asking things but Cas was tired and couldn’t quite follow the conversation. He closed his eyes, focused on the hand holding his own, and let himself drift off.

“The doctors think you have a migraine, or something like that at least,” Sam explained in a hushed tone the next time Cas found himself awake enough to follow a conversation. 

Cas’ eyes slid from Sam to Dean and the older Winchester added, “Yeah, they put you on the good stuff.” 

Cas blinked and looked at both of the brothers before silently looking around the room for the first time. He was in a hospital. The two Winchesters were seated on each side of the bed, each holding one of his hands, anchoring him. The tray in front of him had a plastic pitcher and the glass he just drank out of. There was a television.

The two brothers looked at each other. 

“Uh, Cas?”

Cas returned his gaze to Dean. Dean seemed to want something from him, but he couldn’t figure what.

“Cas. Do you think the migraine medicine is helping?” Sam asked.

Cas glanced over to Sam.

“Are you in pain? Do you have any visual disturbances? Do we sound loud?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“I think he’s still a bit out of it,” Dean whispered.

“Obviously,” Sam whispered back.

“I’m right here,” Cas said.

Sam chuckled and Dean smiled. “Yes, you are,” Dean said. “And since you are right here, can you tell me if everything still feel too bright?”

“Yes,” Cas replied. “But not as bad. I can see now.”

“You couldn’t see before?” Sam asked with a frown.

“Yes, no. Everything was bright. Blurry.”

The brothers went on to say some other things but Castiel’s attention waned and he found himself ignoring them. He slowly looked around the room and found it felt oddly hollow, unreal. He wondered if Lucifer was still possessing him and if this was some new space in his mind. If so, he preferred the Winchester’s kitchen. It felt more real. His own body felt painful, heavily and oafish; but oddly like it wasn’t he that felt it. Like the pain was something someone else was experiencing. Maybe Lucifer? Maybe Jimmy? No. Jimmy was gone, had been gone for a long time now. And there were things, upsetting things, that had happened Cas knew he should be very upset about. He was very upset about, before he let Lucifer in. That all felt so removed now, like it all happened to some on tv show. Even his own puzzlement over his own reaction felt oddly detached.

He realized someone squeezed his hand and he looked down blankly at it.

The hand squeeze his again.

Oh. Dean. 

Dean probably wanted something again.

Cas looked up at Dean as he said something to him. Cas frowned. Dean repeated the noise.

“I’m very tired now,” Cas said, realizing it was probably very true. He felt his eyes closing.

They both said something sympathetic and Cas let his eyes close, falling back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Once it was obvious that Cas was fast asleep again, Sam leaned back, letting go of Cas, and watched him thoughtfully. Dean continued to hold onto the former angel, his thumb rubbing slow circles on the back of his hand. It was so strange to see Cas like this, even after nearly four weeks. “This was a good idea Sam. He does focus better when someone is touching him.”

Sam nodded, distractedly. He was still mulling over their conversation with Cas. “He did stay with us longer this time-”

“-and he had something to drink.” 

“And he had something to drink,” Sam said. That was a big improvement, as the doctors were starting to talk about reinserting the feeding tube if he didn’t start eating and drinking on his own and soon. Dean glanced at his brother, who was looking concerned.

“Come on, Sam, you heard the doctors. He’s just coming out of a three weeks’ coma. They said it’ll take time before he’ll be awake and lucid for long periods of time. He’s making good progress. Give the man some time.”

“He is doing well,” Sam admitted. He sighed and took Cas’ hand again. “I just can’t stop thinking about how Cas was the month after Rowena’s attack dog spell; when he binged on tv. He didn’t seem all that interested in what was going on around him then and he doesn’t seem that interested in what’s going on around him now. It’s like we have to drag him into paying attention to the world around him when he wakes up.”

The two watched Cas sleep for a few moments. What a reversal. How many times did Dean complain about waking up to find Cas staring down at him, probably for hours, while he slept? Now here he was, watching Cas sleep. Dean gave his hand a little squeeze hoping for a reaction, but Castiel was sleeping deeply now and didn’t respond.

“Okay, maybe Cas was in a bit of a funk after the attack dog spell, but Cas pulled out of it.” Dean said, finally. “Urging him back into the fight was a good thing. He just needed that push. He was fine afterwards.”

“Was he really?” Sam asked.

“He seemed fine,” Dean said, then more assertively. “He was fine.”

“Dean, he said yes to Lucifer.”

“Because he thought it was the only way to defeat Amara.” Dean shot back, though it was ironic really. When Amara eventually did find God, the two apparently worked something out and now Amara was the new Death. Yin and Yang and all that crap. It was good that for once something wasn’t solved with a great battle that left one of them dead or worse.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? What? You think he did it for shits and giggles?”

“No, Dean. I’m just-. Sam sighed. “What if Cas wasn’t alright. What if he hasn’t been alright for some time.”

“Cas said he finished healing up,” Dean said lamely; he knew that wasn’t what Sam was meant. 

“You know what I mean.” Sam said calling him on it. “I know you always think Cas is going to be alright in the end and maybe past experience backs that up, but God, think of what he’s been through in the past six years. I mean, Crowley said he was watching tv again in his mind when he tried to talk him into ejecting Lucifer. He said he had a hard time reaching him. Maybe it wasn’t just a calculated risk for the greater good. Maybe I was wrong and Cas chose this for all the wrong reasons.”

The two fell silent and Dean watched Cas, now pale and unmoving on the hospital bed. As much as he’d rather not think about it, the memory rose of Cas sitting on a hotel room confessing that if he went back to heaven, he thought he might kill himself. But Cas never showed any signs of being suicidal after that though, so he figured Cas moved passed that. 

But did he? After all, when he thought he was shutting off heaven, he knew that the angels might kill him for it, but didn’t seem too concerned about that. Dean thought at the time that was more like a logical sacrifice, a calculated risk, like they all took, not that the guy really wanted to die. And he seemed fine after that. He made a life for himself after the angels fell, even after Dean had to turn him away at the bunker (which he still regretted). Cas got a job and must of found a place to live somewhere. They had to take Cas to the hospital to have his arm checked out and by the time they left, it was time for Cas’ shift but Cas told him he had a decent place not too far from work. But then again, when Dean arrived to rescued Cas from the Rit Zien he was talking to Cas about his pain. He came in at the tail end of that conversation so he never knew exactly what that was about, but he never questioned Cas about it and maybe he should have. After that came everything with the Mark of Cain and turning into a demon and being cured and the darkness. They never really got a chance to talk about it all, though in all honesty all that emotional touchy girl talk was more Sam’s thing than his. If Cas thought he was good, he wasn’t going to pry.

But maybe he should have?

Dean continued to rub slow circles on Cas’ hand. He felt a faint prickle on his shoulder. The handprint Cas left disappeared the first time Cas had healed him, but the spot still tingled faintly whenever they touched, whatever that meant. He had become so accustomed to it, that it felt odd when it stopped several months ago. As it turns out, that was because Cas was possessed by Lucifer, the fallen archangel’s presence somehow blocking the connection. Even now, even as he lay unconscious and human, it reacted to Cas’ touch. It was how Dean knew for sure that Lucifer was gone and Cas was still there. 

“So what? You and I aren’t exactly poster boys for mental stability,” Dean finally said. “Cas just needs to rest, get over this ongoing migraine or whatever it is, and he’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sam said.

“Damn straight I’m right,” Dean said, “He just needs some time to recover and shake the migraine. When he’s ready, we’ll take him back home and everything will work out. Just you wait, he’ll be hunting with us in no time.” 

“I hope you’re right,” Sam said, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with their friend.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was slow in coming. On the bright side, I actually have over a thousand words into the next chapter, so hopefully that will quickly follow suit early next week.

“A PB&J, with strawberry jam, not jelly,” Sam said triumphantly as he came into Cas’ room. 

Cas’ bed was in an upright position. Cas was staring into space when he entered. When Cas turned and looked at Sam, dully and not quite properly focused, Sam felt his smile begin to falter. He placed the meal on Cas’ tray and took a step back.

Castiel stared at the sandwich for a moment before Sam encouraged, “You should eat it, Cas. The doctors want you to eat more.”

Cas picked the sandwich up mechanically and began to slowly eat it. Sam took a seat on the opposite side of the room and observed his friend for a moment. 

“The doctors are talking about cutting back your migraine medication since you aren’t having as much trouble and starting physical therapy tomorrow,” Sam said. 

Sam paused, leaving room for a response. When there was none, he continued. 

“You can lose a lot of muscle mass when you’re unconscious for three and a half weeks, four and a half if you count the week you’ve been in and out of it,” Sam said. “Dean really wanted to take you home today, but I told him you should stay another week, because I think PT will do a lot of good.” 

Castiel continued to work on his sandwich, not really showing much interested in it but dutifully eating it, chewing slowly between each bite. 

“Hey, Cas?” Sam waited a moment before repeating more firmly. “Cas. Castiel.”

Castiel didn’t respond. Just finished one slice and started in on the other.

And that was the other problem. Sam stood up, crossed the room and took Cas’s hand in his. He gave it a couple squeezes. Castiel blinked a couple of times before focusing somewhat at Sam. 

“Hey, Cas. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Cas said flatly.

Sam frowned. “You know, if you ever want to talk about what happened, you know, with Lucifer, you can always talk to me. I-I’d probably understand more than anyone.”

Cas stared at him. As an angel, there was always something electric about Castiel’s eyes, as if they held great power behind them. He never lost that, not when he fell the first time, not after Metatron stole his grace. That spark, that electricity was missing now and it left Sam wondering if Castiel lost something of himself when he ejected Lucifer.

“Do you remember what happened?” Sam asked.

Castiel turned away.

“Cas?”

“I’m tired.”

“Guess who brought bagels!” Dean announced from the doorway, startling Sam and making him drop Cas’ hand. He turned and gave his brother a dirty look. 

Dean shrugged and plopped paper bag of bagels down on the tray. “Oh, PB&J. Good choice. Can’t go wrong with a PB&J. It’s an American classic,” Dean said as he pulled a toasted bagel out of the bag and handed it to Sam, who noticed it that was positively dripping with butter.

“I didn't’ know what you’d like, so I got a couple different options for you, Cas,” Dean said, pulling out another. “Wanna live wild? I’ve got an everything with cream cheese.”

Sam went back to his chair as Dean continued in his one-sided conversation about the dietary wonder that was the bagel. Dean had taken the approach that if Cas didn’t want to talk, he’d just keep on talking right at him until he wore him down. As far as Sam could tell, it had just about as much success as anything else.

“Pass me a napkin,” Sam said at Dean’s next pause. 

Dean tossed him a whole wad of napkins while launching into the merits of cinnamon raisin. Sam placed a couple down on the side table, placed his drippy bagel on that, and used another to wipe his hands before cracking his laptop back open.

While Cas was sleeping earlier, Sam tried to learn everything he could about coma patients and their recovery. Unfortunately the nature and extent of recovery often depended what caused the coma in the first place and there wasn’t exactly a wealth of information on banishing sigil-caused comas in former angels found in the medical literature.

Cas’ doctors were hesitant to make a medical prognosis themselves. Up until he woke, they were certain he was brain dead. Sure he was breathing on his own, but his medical scans all showed no high-functioning activity. They still didn’t for that matter, which raised a number of questions. They were currently getting their MRI serviced. 

“Ahem!” 

The voice jarred Sam out of his thoughts. He turned to find a short, stocky woman in a park ranger’s uniform. Under her hat was a mess of short cut mouse brown hair. “Is this Cas Winchesters’ room?”

“Depends who’s asking,” Dean said, turning from the angel and bagel monologue.

“And you two must be the infamous Dean and Sam Winchester,” the woman continued. “Sam’s the tall one, right?”

Sam raised his eyebrows in question.

“You must be one of the rangers that responded when Cas was found.” Dean said.

The woman carefully shut the door behind her. “Lord no, I work the high peaks region, by Lake Placid. But I heard about your friend and, well…” She held out her hand to Dean. “I’m Melissa Merritt. You two are pretty well known in hunter circles.”

“You’re a hunter?” Sam said, sitting up straighter.

“Yeah well, you’ll be surprised what you’ll find in those mountains.” Ranger Merritt said.

Dean snorted. “And you were coming to see if this was a case?”

Melissa nodded. “If there’s something in my park I need to take care of, well, I ought to know.” She stood behind the third and only other chair in the room, but made no move to sit. She looked curiously over at Cas, who apparently fell asleep earlier in the conversation.

“Have you heard of Castiel too?” Sam asked. 

“The angel?” She asked her voice touched with awe as she peered at him. “Yeah, I figured when I heard the name...” She realized she was staring and turned back to Sam, “What happened to him-and I don’t mean the official report. What got him out there?”

“You might want to take that seat,” Dean said, sitting down in his own, besides Cas’ bed. Once she was seated, Dean launched into an edited version of the last year. By the time Sam and Dean gave Melissa filled her in, the sun had long set and Sam was yawning.

“So,” Mel said standing up. “Nothing in the woods that I should be worried about, at least, nothing that caused this.” Mel said gesturing at the still slumbering Castiel. “That’s good at least.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Dean said standing up with her.

“Well, if you need anything, does hesitate to call,” she said and exchanged phone numbers with the Winchesters. The two watched her leave.

“Why don’t you head back to the hotel, Sammy. It’s my shift anyway,” Dean said.

Sam yawned again, despite himself. “Yeah, alright. Let me know-”

“-if anything changes. Yeah, now get. It’s past your bedtime.” 

Sam gave a little snort, and after one last glance at Castiel, headed out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks! I finally have Chapter 7 up. At least it's a little longer than my norm. I've also changed the tags to reflect that this fic is going to become Destiel in time. It doesn't happen to heavily in this chapter and, in fact, will be a slow and subtle build because, well, Cas isn't in the best mental space for romance at the moment, but we'll get there eventually. :) I hope you like this chapter, it was oddly both very easy and very hard to write.

It was a relief when Cas woke up to an empty room. He was fond of the brothers and a part of him did ache for their presence, but they seemed so full of expectations, vague unspoken demands that he couldn’t even begin to understand let alone meet, and that it made frustration bleed into his otherwise pleasantly nebulous existence. When Sam and Dean held his hands, they felt incredibly real, which was comforting. But their touch also made the world around him felt more substantive, which was terrifying, exhausting.

He looked around the Room. Thankfully, it rarely changed. Sometimes light would shine through the blinds, sometimes not. Strangers would come in with their own busy little agendas. Castiel did his best to ignore them. Otherwise, the room was stable, safe, and unchanging, a small bubble much like the bunker’s kitchen had found been earlier. He could lay in the bed and drift.

If the Room felt like its own universe, than everything outside of the bed’s reach was a distant planet; something Cas could see but not reach. In fact, everything felt so detached, so far away, that there were times he was uncertain if anything was real outside of himself and the bed. There were times he wasn’t even certain about those.

Anything beyond the Room was all too big, too complicated, and too threatening so he avoided thinking about it. The bed was soft. The bed was warm. There was really no reason to leave it.

Even the construct of the Bunker’s kitchen, with its tv, seemed like a distant and fading dream; another reality. 

There was, of course, the gray twilight that he had drifted in, when not in the Room, but that was becoming increasingly elusive as of late. When he shut his eyes, more often than not Cas found himself in plunged into the inky blackness of unconsciousness or sleep. That soft gray place was becoming harder and harder to find, harder and harder to retreat to, just as the world around him became more substantial. 

Castiel smelled coffee.

Dean was back.

Instead of looking directly at him, Cas watched Dean’s hand carefully place the paper cup on the tray as Dean’s voice filled the air, his own name becoming a cautious question.

Cas closed his eyes. It was, he assured himself, a strategic retreat. The world before him was too great a foe. He didn’t have any fight left in him. He was too tired to go on. They could carry on without him.

Dean’s hand took his and began rubbing slow deliberate circles around the back with his thumb. Part of Cas wanted to yank his hand away, withdraw into the gray twilight, or at least the covers, but he couldn’t. Dean felt like home, like belonging and he couldn’t bring himself to let that go, not even for the nebulous, numb semi-consciousness that filled up so much of his life as of late. Instead, he lay still, eyes closed, and listened as Dean’s voice washed over him, his voice solidifying into distinct words.

“...so Sam took Baby to find you something else to wear. Cuz, man, you can’t keep wearing that hospital gown once we spring you from here and the clothes you were wearing were ruined Sam’s gonna look for a trenchcoat, of course, and a suit, but we were wondering what else you might like. I mean, I know last time you were human you had a couple different outfits.”

It sounded pretty complicated to Cas. Bed sounded simplier. 

“Hey Cas?” 

Dean was looking down at him. Cas realized he opened his eyes. He realized, for the first time, that the hospital wasn’t exactly a quiet place. There was the faint sound of people outside, moving, talking, attending to patients. The room smelled of antiseptic. The light through the blinds was weak, possibly a cloudy day. It was overwhelming.

He tried to focus back on Dean who was still peering down at him with concern, which felt like yet another demand Cas couldn’t meet. He sighed and looked away again.

“You with me?”

Cas stared mutely at the window and didn’t see Dean’s frown or the forced smile that followed it. 

A hazy, half-hearted light filtered through the blinds, just enough to light up specks of dust that floated lazily in the air. Cas watched them as his heart monitor beeped dull in a changeless rhythm. Before he took a vessel, the passing of time meant very little to him, much as it felt now. Things happened and passed, disappearing into history and he remained untouched by them. Since then…

Since then…

Since then every choice he made seemed to bring pain, fear, terror, if not for himself to others. He closed his eyes and he could feel his blade thrust int Balthazar, the smell of Dean’s blood mixing with the dusty scent of the crypt, the squirm of a thousand monstrous spirits in his gut, see a heaven full of corpses, taste the blood in his mouth.

“I bet you’re thirsty,” Dean’s voice came from nowhere.

Dean let go of his hand. His buoy was lost, and Castiel drowning in the weight of everything.

***

“Dean!”

Dean nearly spilled the water. It sloshed as he slammed the pitcher down and turned around to find Cas struggling to sit up. He looked disorientated, blinking rapidly as he looked wildly around. The heart monitor was suddenly beeping at a frantic pace.

“Cas? Hey. Hey, I’m here, Cas.” Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder with one hand and the side of his face with the other, leveling himself at equal height to the former angel. “Right here. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Castiel’s gaze locked onto Dean’s and Dean inhaled sharply. Whatever the hell was happening right now, Cas was looking at him. Really looking right at him for the first time since he woke (hell, since Lucifer took over). Castiel was really and truly looking at him. His eyes were wide, bright blue, bewildered. Dean was momentarily at a loss, unable to look away. It was only the sound of Cas’ breath, coming in panicked labored pants that brought Dean back into the reality of the situation.

“Cas?”

“Dean?” Cas asked, as he grabbed and held onto Dean’s arm, the one that held Cas’ face.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here, Cas.” Dean could feel Cas’ hands tremble, be it through the sudden exertion or some unknown emotion. Dean guided him back down against the bed. Letting go of his face, his shoulder, but gripping his hand. Cas squeezed his hand, tightly.

“Talk to me.”

Cas’ eyes searched the room and didn’t reply.

“Do you where you are?”

“A hospital. My room.”

“Do you remember how you got here?” Dean asked. “Do you remember what happened?”

Cas shut his eyes and nodded.

Before Dean could ask another question, a nurse came in. The heart monitor, which alerted the nurse in the first place, was slowly starting to resume a calmer place. She started to ask Dean a couple questions about Castiel when he spoke up.

“I’m right here,” he said, grumpily.

“Yes, you are, love. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” The nurse asked as she went to check his heartbeat with a stethoscope. She had red hair, obviously dyed, and brown eyes. She looked like a kid to Dean, not more than what, twenty-five? Then again, Dean had been hunting before then.

“I’m fine,” Cas said, trying to pull away from the nurses touch.

“I need to check your heart, honey,” the nurse replied.

Dean was about to chuckle until he caught the rising panic in Cas’ eyes. “Hey, wait. Just give him a minute.” 

“I have a job to do,” the nurse said.

“Yeah, I understand. Just, give it a minute,” Dean repeated, then turned his attention back to Cas, giving his hand a little squeeze. “This is just nurse, um,” Dean took a peek at her nametag, “Jenny. Jenny’s taken your vitals before, remember?”

Cas huffed, a noise Dean decided to take as an affirmation. With Jenny backing off a little, Castiel looked more grumpy than distressed.

“She just needs to do it again,” Dean said, giving Cas’ hand a little squeeze. 

Castiel gave a put upon sigh before nodding and allowing Jenny to proceed.

“Now was your friend here getting you all excited?” Jenny asked Cas innocently.

Dean gave a little cough and Jenny turned red, realizing her unintentional innuendo. Cas’ head tipped to the side slightly, like he used to when he didn’t understand a reference. 

“No, it was just…” Cas turned and looked out the window. 

Jenny looked a Cas, then Dean, then nodded meaningfully to the door.

“Cas, I need to stretch my legs. Is it okay if I let your hand go?”

Without looking back to Dean, Cas nodded and released Dean’s hand.

Dean shook it for a moment before following Jenny out the door.

Once they were out of earshot, Jenny asked, “What happened in there that caused your friend’s heart rate to shoot up?”

“I’m not really sure,” Dean went on to describe what happened. “I think he had a nightmare. But he’s responding more now, so that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jenny said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean, maybe?” Dean asked.

“Does your friend have a history of mental health troubles? Mental illness?” Jenny asked.

“What? No.” Dean said. Of course not. Why was she even asking?

“Because I wonder if Cas’ slow recovery and some of the symptoms I've seen, I'm becoming concerned he's having some trouble with PTSD or depression. After all, he was attacked while hiking and left for dead, right?” Jenny said. "That could be traumatizing. Do you know why he was hiking alone in the mountains in a business suit?"

“No, but listen, he’s fine,” Dean said, she couldn’t understand he was an angel-formerly an angel. That he was, well, Cas. Of course he didn’t have mental health issues. It was absurd. “He just needs some time.”

“All the same, I’d like to have someone from psych come up and do an eval on him, just to be safe.” Jenny said.

Dean watched her walk back to the nurses station, before pulling out his phone to call Sam. They had to get Cas out of the hospital and now.

**Author's Note:**

> My personal writing goal is to write 1,000-1,500 a week (which is about as much as I can do between work and kids). You can expect 1-2 updates a week. Kudos and Comments make my day. :)
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr where I'm [cerulean-beekeeper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cerulean-beekeeper).


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